


Impulse

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2295047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As is the case with most of Bahorel's spectacular fuck ups, he only has alcohol and his incredibly bad impulse control to blame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impulse

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [AU prompt meme](http://kiyala.tumblr.com/post/96342034971) I'm doing on tumblr for #17. mailman(/woman) and person who receives a lot of mail

As is the case with most of Bahorel's spectacular fuck ups, he only has alcohol and his incredibly bad impulse control to blame. As is also the case with most of his spectacular fuck ups, Bahorel doesn't regret a thing. Especially not if it means that he's getting well-acquainted with the delivery guy.

Feuilly comes around with his deliveries at precisely eight minutes past eleven on weekdays, according to the clock on Bahorel's phone. Not that he has an alarm set for a few minutes before then. Because that would be pathetic and a little creepy and as Grantaire has told him, the role of the pathetic and creepy friend in their group has already been taken. 

Grantaire is never going to find out about the alarm.

It buzzes, as it always does, at eleven. Bahorel turns it off, frowning at it. He's been disappointed so far this week, but there's a shipping notice sitting in his email inbox from the end of last week. Surely, there'll be a delivery today.

The thing is, Bahorel doesn't really care very much about the deliveries themselves. He was at home on his own a few weeks ago and a few beers later, he was on eBay, spending more money than was sensible on dragon figurines. He's already running out of shelf space for the ones that have arrived so far and there are still some that haven't been sent yet. Still, he doesn't actually regret a thing. 

At eight past eleven, Feuilly is pulling up in front of Bahorel's place in his delivery van. Bahorel opens the door and walks out to meet him, because he's well past the point of even pretending to be subtle now. Feuilly grins at him, walking over with a box held in his hand.

"Let me guess," Feuilly says, holding the box up. "Another fucking dragon."

"Dragons are awesome," Bahorel retorts, reaching for the box. Feuilly holds it out of reach and Bahorel rolls his eyes. "Really?"

"Really," Feuilly replies. "Signature first, then you get your box. You know the drill."

Bahorel signs, the thin stylus turning his name into a spiky scribble. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic." Feuilly pockets the PDA and hands the box over. "Probably not as much as you are, now that you've got your new dragon. Have your friends thought about maybe staging a dragon intervention yet? Or at last making sure you aren't allowed to do any internet shopping when you're drunk."

"Please," Bahorel snorts. "If I hadn't ordered all of those dragons, you never would have met me. Imagine how sad and empty your life would have been."

Bahorel's favourite thing about Feuilly is just how obvious it is when he blushes. Not that he blushes easily, but that doesn't stop Bahorel from trying. Feuilly's ears go pink first, before the blush travels down his neck and across his cheeks. Bahorel delights in it, knowing that it means he's said the right thing. 

"Imagine my life with one less cocky asshole in it," Feuilly deadpans. "The horror."

"Excuse you, I'm pretty sure I'm the best part of your day."

"Right. And I'm the one with the alarm."

Bahorel stares at Feuilly, his heart skipping a beat. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Feuilly laughs, shaking his head. "Okay, two things you need to know. One, I'm friends with Grantaire. Two, Grantaire is a shit."

"I'm aware of that second one," Bahorel replies, surprised at just how calm he manages to sound. "Trust me, I'm very well acquainted with just how much of a shit Grantaire can be."

"According to Grantaire, you have an alarm on your phone set for eleven. Called Feuilly."

"I'm going to kill him," Bahorel decides. 

"Or," Feuilly suggests, "you could tell me why you have an eleven o'clock alarm with my name on it."

Bahorel's heart sinks. "Do I really need to?"

"Well, no." There's a small smile tugging at Feuilly's lips. "I'm pretty sure I can come ot my own conclusion, but I'd rather hear it from you all the same."

"Or…" Bahorel begins, taking a step closer to Feuilly. 

"Or…?" Feuilly echoes with a smile, taking a step closer, dwindling their personal space to nothing. 

"I'm going to kiss you now," Bahorel warns.

"I'd fucking hope so," Feuilly retorts, and Bahorel nips his lower lip just for that. Feuilly sucks in a sharp breath and Bahorel presses their lips together.

"You're a dick," Feuilly mutters between their lips, running his tongue over where Bahorel bit him. They're still closer enough that his tongue brushes against Bahorel's lips too, making him shudder. 

"I'm meant to be working right now," Feuilly groans, even as he leans in to press another kiss to Bahorel's mouth. "But we're going to revisit this, alright? We're going to revisit this a lot."

They exchange numbers, steal a couple more kisses, and Feuilly leaves, his cheeks still a faint pink. Bahorel waves with a smug grin that he holds right up until Feuilly's van is out of sight.

 _I'm seriously going to kill you_ , he texts Grantaire, shaking his head as he goes inside. 

He opens his box, shuffling the dragon figurines on his shelf to make space for the new one. It has a flaming orange mane, not unlike Feuilly's hair. It's incredibly apt, Bahorel thinks to himself with a grin, snapping a photo of it and sending it to Feuilly's number with the caption, _Look, it's you in dragon form_. 

He picks out his favourite one of his growing collection, with a scarlet body and bright blue ridges down its back, and places it beside the Feuilly dragon.

His phone buzzes with a message and he can hear Feuilly's dry, amused tone as he reads, _You're completely beyond help. I hope you know that_.

In reply, he snaps a photo of both dragons and sends it to Feuilly. _It's us_.

 _Oh, god_. 

His phone buzzes again, and it's from Grantaire this time. It simply reads, _I'm sure what you meant was that you seriously owe me big time ;)_

And damn everything, Grantaire's actually right.


End file.
